Titus Andronicus
by coldqueen
Summary: There's a big deal going down in Gotham City, and Huntress has to stop it before her friends get hurt. Complicating the situation is Franco, a teenage boy stuck in the middle of a mafia war. Also complicating things? He thinks he's Huntress's sidekick.
1. Little Hunter

This is for all the people who read my **Huntress **Trilogy. Thank you for all the support you gave me. This story is set after that trilogy, but it's not necessary to read it to understand this one. Basic outline: Huntress left Q, found love with Captain Atom, but found herself drawn back to Q anyways. Hearts were broken, origins were explained, dialogue was exchanged, but the end was inevitable. Question/Huntress forEVAH!

Artemis: Sweetie...The Tempest is the first story of three. It's a TRILOGY. There's two more stories!

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**Chapter One: Little Hunter

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**

Gotham City had the worst crime rate in the United States. Recent estimates had a murder happening every ten minutes, a sexual assault every seven, a house broken into every three, and a mugging every thirty seconds. For a city with a population of ten million, that might seem like a lot. Truth is, it was. Take into account, that most of that is from villain to villain, and it's not so much. The mafia families are always feuding, the supervillians are always bickering, and innocents are always getting caught in the crossfire. Gotham was a bloodthirsty, destructive, apathetic city, and for all its faults, Huntress loved it.

It was something Batman had never been able to understand. Sure, this was his city, he was here first. She was here too. She wasn't leaving, not for him, not for anyone. He could have downtown, and most of the outlying areas of urban sprawl. However, the West End was her's. To do as she deemed justice with. Even Batman had recognized it, and warned other capes of it. Only she was allowed to reign there, and the criminal populace had recognized. While not as feared as the Dark Knight, her own bloody form of justice had recently, finally, begun to be respected and feared. She'd never have a spiffy spotlight with a symbol on it, but she did have her home, and she protected it with her life.

Huntress sat on the edge of the West End Water Tower, and marveled at the night life tonight. Three am and still gangs roamed about. She smiled sardonically as she pulled her crossbow to aim and pulled the trigger, sending an arrow across the wide street, a rope attached. Hooking her arm around it, she slid down, hitting the fire escape below near silently. Below her, the five youths were in red and black, gang colors of the Fire Dragons, a new Chinese gang trying to mosey into her territory. On their arms, tattooed in deep red, was a Chinese dragon. It didn't look like what people expected of a dragon. It was more like an eel, no arms or legs or even wings. Helena knew from a semester of Ancient Mythology that that was what Chinese dragons usually looked like.

In the past week alone, they'd mugged ten people, assaulted five, and raped two women. Huntress wasn't putting up with anymore of their shit. Her boyfriend, a masked detective who called himself the Question, often told her that she was more violent with gangs because they reminded her of the mafia, just with less prestige and pompous rites. He then told her that she was most violent with Mafiosi. It was a fact that she couldn't even try to counter-argue.

Below her, the teenagers eyed an older woman walking along the other side of the street. She held her purse to her chest, her wrinkled face studying the gaunt faces of the boys, and walking faster as she instantly didn't like what she saw. Huntress waited until the woman was out of sight, or at least out of hearing range, and dropped down into the plotting boys.

Instantly, at the sight of the purple and black clad vigilante, the gang drew their knives and dropped back several feet. Huntress smiled and slowly placed her crossbow back in its modified holster at her back. Her hands bare of any weapon, she gestured for the boys to bring it. They did.

The first one, tallest of the group, but also skinniest, came rushing forward, his switchblade held in his fist as he lunged at her, his inexperience pitifully clear. Parrying his attack with a quick elbow jab to his ribs, she turned to meet the next attacker. This one was shorter, but also burlier, and by the looks of the way he moved, an experienced fighter. Huntress grabbed his wrist and he dropped the knife, twisting himself backward, turning his arm around in her grip, but catching the knife before it hit the ground. Even as she prepared to twist the arm further and cause damage, he was turning back, the dagger swinging at her neck. Behind her, she heard the first attacker coming again. She ducked, and momentum already started, the second attacker was unable to keep his knife from entering his buddy's hand. As the first attacker reeled back, screaming and bleeding, Huntress, still gripping the second's wrist, twisted it violently and broke it neatly. An upper-cut to his chin sent him flying backwards into two of the remaining three able-bodied gang members. The last member, shortest one, and youngest, looked at her with frightened eyes. What was in his hand belied those eyes.

A gun, a Firestar, one much too large for the small hand that held it. The four other boys were out of the fight, two unconscious after getting thrown into a wall by the body of their friend, that friend dazed and out of it, with a broken wrist, and the other with a knife stuck in his hand had taken off running to get medical help. Huntress stared down the last boy.

He aimed it at her, his grip shaking, his eyes wild. He was a child, caught up in a war he knew nothing about. Huntress saw boys and girls like him too often.

She smiled disarmingly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He snorted, showing courage that hadn't seemed there the moment before. "Yeah, right."

"I'm not. I just want to stop the violence."

The boy stared at her, unflinching. "You can't solve the problem, with another version of the same problem."

Huntress cocked an eyebrow. "You're obviously a smart boy. What are you doing in a gang?"

"No other place to turn."

"There's always another place."

"Not for me."

"Let me help you."

"Why?" The boy asked, waving his gun to point at his friends. "I'm just like them. I have no family, no home, nothing. So I got invited and I accepted. I did what I was asked. I was there when they did everything, and yeah, I helped. Cops get ahold of me, and I'm going to juvie. I'm a criminal." The boy, probably not older than thirteen, didn't sound too happy about that. It gave her hope.

Huntress shrugged, edging forward a bit, her hands still held out and empty. "We all make mistakes."

"Yeah? Well, you're Huntress. You kill people like me."

She shook her head, still ever closer. "Not people like you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The gun lowered a bit, before coming right back up. "Guess I should kill you first then." He started to squeeze the trigger, and instantly she was thinking of ways to get out of this. She'd dodge to the left, away from the stirring three at the wall, and come up in a lunge, taking the boy off his feet and knocking the gun away. The other three would go to jail, but she'd get him out of here before the cops came. Take him to a safehouse set up by Oracle not far from here. He'd get help.

Before she could start to move, staring down that barrel, a foot away, and already moving to the side, a blur of black came out of a nearby alley, slamming into the boy, sending him careening to the sidewalk, his head hitting it with a sickening thud. For a few seconds, the two figures lay there, and Huntress stared at them.

Snapping into action, Huntress pulled the blur, now revealed to be a teenage boy in black and...purple. He stood there, grinning broadly, a bit spaced-out. He watched as Huntress kneeled beside the young gang member, looking at his head where he was starting to bleed, and taking his pulse. She apparently liked what she saw and stood again, starting towards the "hero".

"Who are you, and why did you interfere?"

The boy, dark hair and tan skin, brown eyes, and about sixteen, laughed and threw his arms out, grinning broadly. He was Italian in descent, American by birth, and Mafia by nature. Helena recognized him, but had asked the question anyways. He answered slyly. "I am Little Hunter!"

She cocked an eyebrow and turned away. "Oh, that's nice. You're delusional. Did you hit your head when you tackled the kid?"

Little Hunter watched as she stooped down and picked up the teenage gang member with no trouble, turning back to him, waiting for his answer.

"I don't think so."

She smiled. "That's good. Go home."

"But I have to go with you!" Lil Hunter cried, starting after her, his black trench coat floating around him, the purple highlights within catching in the minimal light and glinting ominously. Huntress thought he looked a bit like a comic book character.

"Why is that?" Huntress asked, while in her ear Oracle relayed that the cops would be there within seconds.

"Because I'm your sidekick," Lil Hunter replied matter-of-factly.

Huntress stared at him incredulously, while on the other end of the open line, Oracle and Black Canary had themselves a good ole gut-busting laugh. "Seriously?"

The kid nodded, and opened his trench coat, hands on his hips. On his chest, an ornate purple H was inlaid into a circle of purple. "I am Little Hunter."

She didn't find it funny.


	2. Franco

Thanks to my two readers, and my one alert. You three? TOTALLY AWESOME.

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**Chapter Two: Franco

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**

Little Hunter's real name was Franco Galante, grandson to the _capo di tutti capi_ of Gotham. For those not up on mob-speak, it means his grandfather is the boss of bosses, as in the head of the Gotham mob in all it's extensions. You want narc to the cops, it's Franco's grandfather, Giuseppe, who gave the order for you to be disposed of. Huntress, indoctrinated in the intricacies of mafia relations and duty, was Franco's cousin, twice removed; not that he knew that.

He followed behind her, keeping up even though she was moving at a good clip with her much longer legs. Finally, breathless but still following, he called up to her, "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking this kid to a safe house," she replied, sparing a glance for the small boy in her arms. His head had stopped bleeding, which was good, but he was cold, which was bad. The only good thing at the moment was that the safe house was only a few blocks away.

"Why? He's a criminal! You heard him admit it! And he was going to shoot you," the "little Hunter" said matter-of-factly.

Huntress stopped running for a moment to turn and glare at him. "Look, kid, no one asked you for your opinion. It's taking me a helluva lot of years of fighting the damn city to know that it's not black and white. Crime is red, white, purple, and black, and you can't always tell. This kid here," she gestured to the prone body in her arms, "was used and abused and turned to the one place he thought could protect him. He was wrong about that, but he doesn't deserve to get incarcerated for it."

Franco backed up a step and he blushed beneath his purple mask, almost identical to her own. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Satisfied that she'd humiliated him enough for the moment, though not nearly enough to drive him back to his safe (well, in mafia-town, reasonably safe) suburban home and his coddling mother. Helena hated his mother, a screechy-voiced gold digger with eyes only for her husband's wallet and her Pool Boy's ass. No wonder the kid wanted something other than that to go look forward to everyday.

Together, the two reached the "safe house", a four story brownstone in the middle of the West End. With a sigh, Huntress stomped up the steps, using her elbow to hit the one and only buzzer. She didn't really want this damn kid to know where the safe house was, but he was turning out to be harder to shake that the Joker on Halloween. It took several minutes to get a reply from one of the occupants of the building, but just her luck, it was one she looked forward to seeing.

"Codeword?"

"Open the door."

"That's not the codeword."

"Open the door, Vic."

"Still nowhere near the-"

"Open the door VICTOR!"

"Okay." His voice had a tone to it that said he was laughing inwardly. Huntress had spent months dating this man, never seeing his face, but learning to read his thoughts just by the sound of his voice, and sometimes his silence. There were some, in Hub City in particular, who'd kill to have that kind of insight into the vigilante.

Helena would just love to see her boyfriend more often. Even as she thought that, his faceless mug appeared at the top of the steps just inside the door, and she was rushing up to him. "He's hurt."

"Who is he?" Question asked, then casting a glance over her shoulder, asked, "And him?"

"This is a kid in a bad situation, and that," she threw her head back towards the sidekick, "is a pain in my ass."

Question cooed at the Little Hunter. "Picking up strays, again, babe?"

Huntress cast a cold glance at him. "Babe?"

Question shrugged. "Darling?"

"Better, but not much so."

He shrugged again, and wrapped an arm around Franco's shoulder, pulling the spandex-clad youngster along behind Huntress, who was hurrying towards the third floor already and the medical supplies that were there. Question glanced down at the kid and smiled (though of course the kid couldn't see it). "Who are you?"

Franco threw off the Question's hand and turned to him brazenly, his hands at his hips, his head held high. "I am Little Hunter, Huntress's partner."

Vic fought the urge not to laugh, then remembered the roaring laughter that had crowded over the active communication line just minutes ago, presumably coming from Black Canary and Oracle, who had the fourth floor to themselves. This must have been the reason.

Vic threw his arm back around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close conspiratorially. "I bet that went over well."

"She wasn't too happy."

Vic nodded knowledgably. "She doesn't like partners. Or sidekicks."

"Why not?"

"She thinks it makes them weak."

Huntress appeared at the top of the stairs, the Chinese boy in capable hands behind her, and her thoughts and face angry as she stomped back towards them. "It does make them weak. Stupid heroes, gotta have a little kid along to make them feel righteous? I say Ha!"

Little Hunter and Question both cocked their eyebrows and tilted their heads, almost in sync. Question spoke. "Explain to the boy, why that is. Personally, I think it's well thought out and knowledgeable. If only you would calm down long enough to tell it to those same heroes who run around with kids in spandex."

"Speaking of, where is Batman?" Huntress asked with a suspicious look; she really didn't want Batman running into the "Little Hunter".

"East End," Question replied, ambling over to brush a kiss against Helena's cheek. She allowed him to do so.

"What a shocker, Catwoman's territory."

"I'm completely shocked," Question announced. "A booty call while on duty. Even I wouldn't stoop so low as to...oh, wait...just last week, we..."

"Shut up, Vic."

"Hey! Civilian in the area!"

Huntress sighed and resisted the urge to smack her boyfriend on the head. "He's not a civilian. He's my sidekick."

Franco grinned and stuck his chest out, proudly displaying the purple H there. "I am."

Q studied the H. "If I got one of those, could I run around with you?"

"You're irritating."

"Right now?"

"No, on the streets. You're irritating. You take too long to make a move, and you spend hours making theories about why criminals are doing what they'd doing."

"So?"

"So, I'm an action girl. I kick ass and get out before the cops come. I don't think when I'm patrolling."

Q pouted, and Helena could hear it in his voice, but could also tell that he was enjoying teasing her. "I love you."

"I know."

With a sigh, Vic removed a set of keys from the pocket of his trench coat. "Take him home."

"I was planning on it."

She latched onto Franco's wrist and began to pull him down the stairs with her. She knew exactly where he lived, the same way she knew exactly who his parents were. Her civilian identity, Helena Bertinelli, had spent many a day forced into social situations with his family. As the last remaining Bertinelli, it was her duty to do so. Not only that, her godfather and uncle, Tomaso Panessa, had often asked her to represent the Panessa's by attending. Everywhere she turned, her family was dwindling. With a sigh, she started to open the front door.

Just one story up, Question called down to her, his voice completely different from the light teasing tone of just seconds before. "And...Nathaniel has called for you several times."

She froze. "Did you take a message?"

"He wasn't inclined to leave one."

Huntress smiled up at him, knowing how difficult it was for him to be civil while on this subject. "Thank you."

Question shrugged. "My pleasure."

Finally, free from the safe house, Huntress dragged Franco over to a non-descript Ford Neon. Taking his cues from Huntress, Franco got in on the other side, while Huntress slipped behind the driver's seat.

"I wasn't expecting this," he commented as Huntress started the car.

"What?"

"The car. I was expecting a...sports car or a freaky tank. Like Batman's."

Huntress snorted. "Yeah, that's conspicuous."

Franco nodded and watched as the lights passed by, somber now that he was realizing his whole introduction and acceptance by Huntress, so not going how he thought it would. He'd envisioned her being grateful for the help, maybe a little humble? Not this loud-mouthed braggart, who reminded him of everyone of his family. He'd thought doing this would get him away from his family.

"I also...kinda thought...you know..."

"What?"

"That you'd be dating one of the Bat-family."

"Ew."

"Like...Batman."

"Seriously ew. That'd be like...dating my father."

"Sorry," Franco said quickly, the city falling behind them as they hit the highway.

"Look, kid, it's nice that you want to be a hero," Helena glanced at him, trying to figure out how to put it softly for his sake, "but I don't support kids in this business. It's bloody, and violent, and dangerous, and kids shouldn't be around it. They should be playing video games and reading comics, not fighting supervillians and getting beat up every night."

Huntress exited the highway, and they let that stew between them. She'd shut down all communications between herself and headquarters, wanting this conversation to be in private. Franco turned to her, his eyes sleepy, but his heart shining in them still. "I don't want to be like the rest of my family. I hate the mob, and everything it is!" His tone was so vehement that if standing, she'd have taken a step back. As far as she knew, the Galante's had spoiled this boy, he'd never seen the side of the mafia that it was infamous for. Maybe she'd been wrong; but not about the caped thing.

She smiled bitterly, her own memories of her orphaned and bloody childhood flashing before her eyes. "I know what you mean."

Franco nodded. "I know you do. It's why I came to you! You have done more against the mafia than Batman has ever done! Fuck Batman!"

Huntress easily found herself liking this boy, and it wasn't a good thing. She prepared for the final blow as she pulled behind Franco's house, the alley was the best place to drop a kid who'd snuck out. "Franco Galante. You're not meant to be a sidekick, mine or anyone's. I catch in the West End again, I'll inform your grandfather of your hobby myself."

Franco gaped and swallowed, his look of tempered fear peeking through his hooded eyes. He opened the door and stepped out, a light mist beginning to fall from the cloud-covered sky. He started to step away, but just as he was about to close the door, he leaned back down. "I think you're bluffing."

Then, as quick as a hummingbird, he was gone, disappearing into the hedges, leaving Huntress gaping behind him.


	3. Helena

Sorry for the long time between update. My muse went to Tahiti, got drunk, and forgot to come back.

I kid. I kid.

A/N: My muse went AWOL, but I like to think she's back now.

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**Chapter Three: Helena

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**

Sitting barely a block from headquarters, idly playing with her hair, Huntress could admit to herself that one day Franco Galante would make a good poker player. She would never tell anyone what Franco was doing, or why, because that would mean his death, immediately. Mafia mentality demanded that all betrayal be met with blood.

Even if the betrayal was imagined, blood was demanded. Facts of being a Mafia Princess, Helena Bertinelli knew exactly what the rules of engagement were. You move through the Families with a smile and confidence, because the sharks are always watching. She did her duty, went to the funerals and the weddings, smiled at touchy cousins, smirked at the weak members of the "club", and gave respect to her elders. She was the consummate actress, never displaying the hate and disgust that so often colored her thoughts. Thank god, no members of the five Families of Gotham City could read minds; else she'd be in a lot of trouble.

Not that she wasn't in trouble. Getting a call from an ex-boyfriend, only to have her on-again, off-again, and now on-again boytoy to answer the phone? What fun a day in her life could be. Days like this she remembered just how much fun her life used to be.

There had once been a time when the Huntress hadn't cared whether the criminals she hunted lived or died, and yes, in that time so early in her "career" she'd killed. Often indiscriminately. Thankfully, long before she came to Gotham City, otherwise Batman would have surely imprisoned her by now. She didn't doubt that those world-famous detective skills knew that she'd once done these things. He couldn't prove it. She also knew that that infuriated him and delighted her.

Death, blood on her hands, and she didn't regret it. Sometimes, she still thought that for some people, it was the only way to stop them. Just think, if Batman had taken terminal force with the Joker, maybe Barbara wouldn't be paralyzed. Maybe Jason Todd wouldn't be dead and have a memorial in the Batcave (which she knows of only due to late night conversations of a long-dead persuasion with Nightwing). Batman can be as imperial as he wants to be when dealing with her, but somewhere inside him, he has to realize that eventually, the line will be crossed, and needs to be. Death is the ultimate punishment, and sometimes, the only one. Especially for people connected with the Families.

Franco Galante, heir to the top seat of the Mob in Gotham, wanted to work with her. Be her aid in all things, and God help her, she was tempted to do just that. Think of how much good could be done with a Hero in the top seat. Together, they could perhaps one day bring down the Five Families. Together.

Huntress leaned back in her seat and idly pulled her cell phone from a side pocket of her uniform, punching in a familiar number and doing something she really hadn't intended to do, just to get her mind off that pipe-dream.

He picked up on the first ring. "Helena?"

"How'd you know?"

"Caller ID."

"Ah. Hey Nate."

"Hey, darlin'. I take it no-face gave you my message?"

"He did. Any reason you're calling me, or is this just a social call?"

"Can't a guy miss the love of his life?"

"I didn't know you and Vic were that close."

"Ha, ha, ha."

"I thought it was."

Nate sighed. "I need your help. Meet with me tomorrow for lunch?"

"Why can't you just tell me on the phone?"

"Because that wouldn't piss of Q."

"Ah, good point. Tell me now."

"It involves an old friend of yours. One I think you'll want to hear about, and not on an insecure channel probably being listened in on by old Batty." Aww, he called the Dark Knight by her nickname for him. Hearing it said in that soft, controlled Southern voice made her remember other things. She had Nathaniel had only been together for half a year, tops, but there were many memories in those six months. Close to the end, they'd slept together, and spent many a night talking. Though she admitted later, that she loved the Question and was going back to him despite all the hurt he'd caused her, truth was that she did love Captain Atom, Nathaniel Adams. He'd helped her through a difficult place in her life, and she'd always appreciate him for that. He just wasn't the one she loved. Not the way she loved Vic.

"Does this old friend have a name?"

"Tomaso."

Helena froze, in that dark car, on that dark street. Tomaso was a fairly common Italian name. In point of fact, it was the name of her godfather, her real uncle Tomaso Panessa. Her mother's brother and a man she loved more than life itself. He was also the leader of one of the five Families, let in only after her father's and the family of Bertinelli's death. He was one of the last remaining family she had, or at least, acknowledged.

"Romero's on Fifth?" She asked, her breath held as she imagined all the scenarios of what the old man could be into. Given Nathaniel's military background and contacts, it didn't bode well.

Down the street, a familiar blue trenchcoat and fedora appeared, walking slowly to the car. In her ear, she could hear an affirmation on Nathaniel's end, and she clicked the phone closed as Vic slid into the car, rubbing his hands together to warm them. He smiled at her, leaning over to kiss her briefly before buckling himself in. Together, they silently made their way a mile or so to the East, closer to the river and the apartment they were renting together.

They pulled up outside the brownstone and Helena turned off the car, a Mustang, ironically enough, a gift from Tomaso. They sat there in the dark for a few minutes, enjoying the slow fall from adrenaline. It was almost four a.m., and this was her favorite time of the day. At this time, even the criminals were crawling into bed, and those who were already there wouldn't be awake for a few hours yet. Tomorrow, well, technically today, was Saturday, so if she wanted, she could sleep in.

"I have to go into school for a few hours today. I forgot I have to grade some papers, and I left them there," the lie came out easily. It proved to her subconscious that she was and most likely always would be a liar, but a good one. If you're gonna lie a lot, at least be good at it.

"Okay. I guess I'll sleep in and when you're done we'll have some dinner, then head over to the safe house," he was perfectly amiable when he said it, his tone, his face, but Huntress could sense his unease. She never forgot papers, so maybe she wasn't such a good liar after all.

They got out of the car at the same time, and as they closed the doors, Vic held out his hand to her. Smiling softly, she took it and walked around the car, letting him wrap his arm around her shoulders and guide her into the building. The elevator was silent as it sent them rocketing to the top of the seven story building and their penthouse. Helena wasn't anywhere near poor, and for that matter, neither was Vic. This large space that took up the entire top floor was one of their only concessions to their financial status. The building wasn't top-notch, nowhere near it, and the East End wasn't the suburbs. It was largely pockets of middle-class people, making it by the tips of their fingers, but making it nonetheless. Helena had never been able to bear living surrounded by the poor. She had sympathy for them, she fought for them, she killed for them, but at night she went home and was surrounded by people of her own ilk.

They were quiet as they moved about the apartment, not turning on any of the lights, but still aware of the people who slept below them. Helena hung up Vic's hat and coat, and listened as he started a shower in the large en suite bathroom to their bedroom. Before, the shabby space had had three bedrooms, but given their profession, one of them was now a gym and the other was Vic's office. Whenever he was feeling particularly paranoid, he could lock himself in there and get as into his work as he needed. Whenever she was feeling particularly violent, she could go into the gym and beat the shit out of the punching bag. They both had their vices.

Helena stared out the large windows of their living room, staring down at the sleeping homes that lay sprawled before her. In the distance, the lights of downtown were still shining bright as the sun, even in the buildings. Perhaps this proved that even now, not everyone slept.

Behind her, she heard Vic walk lightly up behind her, gently laying his hands on her shoulders and rubbing. She could hear the bones in her neck crack as she leaned her head back on his shoulders. She loved his hands. So strong and determined, never at a loss of what to do. Even as she relaxed into his arms, he was deftly undoing her uniform, hidden beneath her cape just in case anyone happened to be watching them as they arrived home. Her mask was in her pocket.

When she was completely undone, he grasped her hand and pulled her into the bathroom, past the large maroon bed that dominated their sleeping space. Helena had to smile as he removed her clothes, pushing her into the large glass-enclosed shower before joining her there. Victor Sage, better known as the Question, her boyfriend, and one of the few people she ever allowed to take care of her. As the hot water and steam churned around them, she let him love her because in times like this, when melancholy and memories clouded her mind, there was very little else she could do. Even bad ass vigilantes want to be held sometimes. Victor, more than anyone, knew exactly what meeting that boy tonight had done to her mind. She liked him for not saying anything, but she loved him for knowing that not saying anything and not doing anything were two very different things.

Later, as the dawn came and chased the night away, she pulled herself out of his arms and crept into the living room. Vic for all his security and paranoia, slept like the dead. Heavy sleeper really didn't describe it.

Taking a seat in front of the large bay windows, she watched as the sky changed in front of her, and she listened as the sounds of life began to drift up from all sides. On her lap sat a scrapbook, made by the amateur hands of a girl of only eight. Newspaper clippings, pictures, small items of remembrance. She held her childhood in her hands, and she struggled to remember what it was like to be in Franco's place. She'd come to that place so much earlier than he had, and truthfully, she was beginning to think she'd never left.

Even now, her blood cried for blood. She remembered that feeling, when it was so fresh and exciting. She remembered answering the call, and taking what she felt was justice.

She also remembered that the call never really faded.


	4. Atom

New Chapter! Give me love. GIVE ME LOVE! I DEMAND! I DEMAND!

Please?

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**Chapter Four: Atom

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**

Helena would like to say that today's lunch had answered some questions for her, and it had. However, quite a few popped up in response.

The first question asked and answered was one of her own will. Did she still find Nathaniel Adams, better known to the world as Captain Atom, as attractive as she once had? Did her knees still weaken when he laid on the Southern accent? Did she still feel the urge to pet that stiff bristle he called hair?

Helena liked to imagine herself as a one-man woman. Capable of putting all others out of her head, and in truth, she was. Still, staring at Nate over the table, watching as he without hesitating ordered her favorite food from her favorite restaurant, and she remembered why for those six months she'd adored him. Sure, in the end, she'd left him. Her love of Vic had overshadowed her affection for Nate. She'd made a conscious choice, again, and didn't regret this one.

Watching as Nate studied her over the table, and she did find herself regretting hurting him. At one point of their relationship, she'd convinced herself that Nate could make her happy. Instead, he'd made her content. Not a bad thing, but with true happiness so close, how could she settle for complacency instead?

"You look good, Helena," Nate said as he ducked his head and fiddled with the silverware.

She smiled. "I'm aware."

He smiled back. "You hate compliments."

"They're so often hiding the real reason behind them."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Then why so defensive?"

"You have a habit of attacking without warning. Reminds me why Bat-...Bruce calls you dangerous."

Helena leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm dangerous to Bruce only because he believes I am. You know what they say; it can't hurt if you don't believe in it."

Nate smiled and leaned back as the waiter brought their drinks and salads. He waited until he was gone before speaking again. "Your uncle has drawn the attention of the United States military intelligence in his direction. It's not a good move."

Helena grinned evilly as she bit viciously into a plum tomato. "When is it a good move to fuck with the military?"

Nate grinned back. "Never."

"Okay. So. What do you want me to do about it? You know I'm not involved in mob-affairs."

Nate leaned forward. "We want you to be."

Helena set down her fork. "Excuse me?"

"My superiors were all for sending in a cleaning squad, taking out the offending parties in one quick, secret move. I convinced them that I could end the problem amicably, no blood loss."

"Given who we're talking about, blood loss on either side should be expected in any situation. You know, the mafia and the military are a lot alike. Shoot first, shoot some more, and if anyone's left alive, ask a question."

Nate stared at her resolutely, refusing to rise to the bait. Finally, Helena sighed. "What has my dear uncle done exactly?"

Nate scooted closer, the quiet tone of his voice clearly stating that he didn't want this overheard. "A month ago, a ship in the Atlantic went missing for three days. When it surfaced again, the entire shipment was gone and the crew dead."

Helena leaned forward too. "So?"

"The shipment was that of new Government Issue meta-guns."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Meta-guns?"

"They're new. So new, that only a handful of companies and people know about them. For months now, specific government facilities have been working on a weapon that can be used against meta-humans, just in case a situation with an Enemy should break out with no Heroes around." Helena knew instinctively what he was talking about. Guns specially designed to take out the super-powered in case other super-powered people weren't around to handle it.

She also read between the lines. "Also for use in case said Heroes should become an Enemy of the government, and need to be taken down."

"The situation does occur."

"You sound like you're reciting the Cadmus Manifesto. Shall I start calling Amanda?"

Nate glared at her. "The weapons are very dangerous." He moved on. "Two weeks ago we received a tip that the Five Families of Gotham were in on the deal, and specifically the Panessas were brokering it."

"I still don't see what I can do."

"Talk to your uncle. Tell him to back out of the deal. Hand over the weapons anonymously back to the military."

"And if he doesn't listen to me?" Helena asked, watching as his eyes went a little colder.

"Then it will be a slaughter. The military will go in and take out anyone with knowledge of the weapons. This cannot be made public. Too many human's rights organizations would have a fit."

"Just how powerful are these weapons?" Helena asked, suddenly envisioning a huge spotlight-sized gun taking down Superman and sending him plummeting into the ground.

"They're like handhelds, but they used electrical charges designed to shut down the part of the brain that Metas use with their abilities."

"Sounds shady to me," Helena replied matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, think of your friends. What would happen to them if suddenly all the criminals in Gotham had weapons capable of taking them down with one shot?"

She leaned back and allowed the waiter to take her uneaten salad and replace it with cannolli. She'd lost her appetite, which truly angered her given how much she loved the cannolli here. Helena picked up her purse and stood to leave. Nathaniel stood too.

"What have you decided?" He asked, holding her arm to keep her from walking out.

She pulled away, glaring at him in anger. "I think I shouldn't have come here, because now I'm being forced to do something I don't want to do."

Nate nodded slowly, releasing her arm and taking his seat again. "Thank you, Helena."

"Don't thank me. My way probably won't be any less bloody than your superiors'. You know I love a good death scene," she replied snidely, turning and leaving him sitting there.

Deep down, a little girl cringed inside a dark room, remembering all the bad things and memories her family represented to her. Death, destruction, corruption, and greed. The four deadly sins of Mob-dom.

Her Lamborghini stood bright and shiny at the curb, waiting for her to slide in and screech off in a fit of high-speed petulance. Instead, she stood there and breathed deep. Vic often told her that her temper would be her downfall one day.

Finally, she slid her phone out of her purse and dialed her godfather's number. There was no answer, not surprising, but she noted to herself that she must call and inform her Uncle Tomaso that it was time for her annual visitation.

Once a year with the scum of the Earth was about all she could ever stomach.


	5. Godfather

A/N: I have just found out something. Something very disturbing about the current DC Comics continuity. If you're not interested, please skip this as it is quite spoilery...

The Question, in 52, has been revealed as having cancer and dying. He's been training Renee Montoya as his replacement.

Now, in light of this, I have one thing to say to the idiots over at DC.

#$ you, DC.

They damn well better give me a Question/Huntress scene or something, or else I'm gonna be pissed. (More than I already am.) (Bastards!)

* * *

**Chapter Five: Godfather

* * *

**

Tomaso Panessa lived in luxury, all of it bought with blood money, laundered so that it wasn't as visible as the feds would like. On paper, he owned a website that had a steady, but not exorbitant, income. In reality, he was the leader of one of the Five Families of Gotham, and after the coup he helped put into place usurping the Bertinellis, he was also one of the most feared. Most of the families didn't realize that Tomaso had never intended for any deaths to occur. Most of the families preferred to fear Tomaso; the man they believed was so intent on ingraining himself in Gotham that he authorized his own sister's murder. Not that many of the families hadn't condoned a little patricide every once and a while. It was practically a rite of passage to murder one of your own family to gain status or power. It was expected.

Helena liked to believe that she was above all this. The corruption, the money, the power; the allure of no rules, the temptation of all-consuming fear, the weakness of wanting a family. Tomaso Panessa had never understood how she could walk away from all this. Helena pulled her Lamborghini up to the gate that surrounded his house, and studied how the bad half lived.

A mansion, no surprise; three cars, all luxury; a large pool with all the accoutrements, and numerous technologies not available to the public just yet. There were also twenty armed guards that patrolled the borders of the grounds at all times, five inside the house, three Doberman pinschers, abused to be mean, not to mention round the clock camera feeds into a secured room hidden in the house. The bad half was paranoid, and rightly so.

Easing down her window, Helena smiled at the guard coming to intimidate her away, his bulk making him waddle in a way that made her stifle a laugh. Steroids, they're what's for dinner.

"Can I help you?" An Italian accent, another non-surprise. Looking at the dark hair and brown eyes, Helena surmised to herself that this was probably one of her numerous cousins whom she'd never been able to keep track of.

"Helena Bertinelli to see Tomaso."

The man did a double take, then almost bowed as he backed away in a quick pace. This sight didn't make her grin. The fact that her name still had power to it had always irritated her, and also made too many Mafiosoes interested. To marry and beget upon the last remaining Bertinelli, a founding family? No higher honor. Uncle Tomaso had not made things easier, either; every time she'd come home from boarding school, another eligible and "appropriate" boy had been waiting to "escort" her. Ha! She'd known exactly what her uncle had been up to and had enjoyed scaring the potentials away. She didn't want to be a part of the Family.

The gates opened silently and quickly, barely giving her a chance to slide her car through before shutting again. Helena focused on driving up the long winding driveway, while somewhere in the back of her mind Huntress noted the placement of all the cameras. At the front door, Tomaso stepped out and watched as she parked. He remained in sight, but out of sight of any snipers that might be waiting. You can never be too careful.

Forcing a large smile on her face, Helena pulled herself out of the low slung car, a gift from Tomaso for her return "home" to Gotham. Tomaso threw his arms open to the woman, and the small girl in her made her run into them. Despite his faults, his many crimes, and the blood on his hands, Helena loved this old man more than many knew. He was her godfather, her uncle, and one of her few relatives she had remaining that she spoke to.

Laughing jovially, Tomaso pulled her into the dark front hall, pulling the door shut behind them. Grasping her hand in his, he led her into the living room just off the foyer, and to a seat.

"Tell me, my Helena," he started in a thick accent pure Italy, "why you wait so long to see me?"

"I'm sorry, godfather, it's been busy lately. Summer break and all."

He nodded knowingly, not for a second at a loss for why she hadn't come. "Busy with this new man, I hear?"

Helena blushed (fake) and laughed lightly. "Never out of the know, godfather."

"I worry!" He said, throwing his hands into the air in fake exasperation. It was a game they both played, pretending everything was good and fine. The fact is, that things had been strained between Helena and Tomaso for many a year. Almost five in fact. Tomaso had been under the impression that when Helena returned to Gotham, that she would come under his protection and into his Family, formally and finally. She hadn't, instead striking out on her own and making it clear, formally and finally, that she would not ever be joining a Family. She'd used her parents' murder as to the why, but the truth was her hatred of all things Mafia made it impossible for her to stomach even going undercover with them.

"There is no need, Uncle Tomaso. He's a good man," Helena said with a smile and a small pat on his cheek.

Tomaso narrowed his eyes at her, staring at her out of the corner of his eye as he looked away. "He's not Italian."

"Not everyone is so lucky."

He laughed, and hugged Helena, and she let him. For a few seconds, she went nostalgic, and could relax into his embrace. Snuggling into the now-soft flesh of him, she remembered a time when he'd been hard, both in body and in spirit. The night her parents and her little brother had died, he'd been the first one on scene, before even the cops. He'd gathered her into his arms, from the seat at the dinner table, where she'd stay sitting, watching as the blood of her family coagulated on the solid oak before her. She'd never screamed or cried that night. Just stayed there, staring, memorizing the face of the man who'd come in from the darkness and started shooting.

The smell of cigars and vanilla. It was purely Tomaso. Vanilla from the flowers he kept in every room of the house, cigars from the cigars he couldn't go half an hour without smoking. The flowers were for his sister, having been her favorite all their lives. The cigar was for him, an addiction Helena knew he'd taken up the week of the funerals. Her mother had been the only one with an open casket, having taken the shot in her chest. Helena's father and brother had taken them in the face.

Helena pulled away, a serious look on her face as she studied her godfather, noting every new line and wrinkle. Thirty years ago when he'd arrived in Gotham City, he hadn't been a young man, and he most certainly wasn't now. His hair, once black as ink, was not feathered in shades of white and gray. His skin still as tan as ever, but thinner and more worn than she could remember seeing it. Helena ran her own youthful hand down his own and watched as he grasped it and brought it to his lips to kiss.

"What has you so sad, my Helena?"

"Remembering things."

"Memories can be bad things sometimes, but they can be good too."

Helena sat up and stared at her godfather, a small smile on her lips. "Sometimes." Helena sobered up, her smile fading away as she stared at the old man beside her. "I've a favor to ask, Uncle."

Tomaso noted the more serious tone, and straightened his face as well. Helena rarely, if ever, asked for anything, and he was more than ready to grant any wish. "What?"

"The gun shipment. Leave it alone."

He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd hit him over the head with a club. "What? How do you..."

"It doesn't matter, Uncle. I'm asking you to leave it alone."

Tomaso took a deep breath, drawing a cigar from his chest pocket and lighting it before replying. "Why?"

Helena too took a deep breath, drawing up a number of excuses and lies to use, to cover her tracks because telling her Uncle that she was a caped Hero who took down his kind really wasn't an option. "There are some rumbles on the streets. They say this deal is going to go bad, real bad. I don't want to see you hurt."

Tomaso cupped her cheek in his hand. "I know what I'm doing. It's not going bad."

She grasped that hand tightly, forcing him to look in her eyes. "It is. Trust me."

Leaning back, Tomaso took a drag of his cigar, letting the smoke ease from his lungs slowly. "You know something I don't, my niece?" It was never really a good thing when a mobster began to address you by the relation you hold to them, it means they're reminding you of your place, or worse, themselves of just how replaceable you are. Since Helena wasn't replaceable, she knew he was trying to make her back off without being overly aggressive.

Helena smiled secretly. "I know people who know people, Uncle. They're telling me to get you to back away from this, before you lose."

"Do I know these people?"

"No."

"It's too late, Helena. The shipment will arrive in less than a week. All that's left is payment."

Helena sighed and started to pace, her eyes glancing over the family portrait above the mantel. The deal was already half through, which meant that no matter what, it would be arriving here and someone would be paying.

She turned to her godfather, her mouth hard and her eyes stubborn. "Back out of it, Uncle. Let the other Families take care of it."

He leaned forward, incredulous. "You propose I let the other Families take the fall? Let them get the trouble for a deal I started?"

She nodded.

Tomaso studied her face. "You're more like your father than I give you credit for, my niece."

She wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, and she started pacing again as the thoughts whirled in her head. "Make an excuse, anything, but get out this deal."

"Why are you suddenly so interested in Family matters?" Tomaso suddenly asked, a suspicious light dawning in his eyes.

Helena shut down her face, so that when she turned to stare at him, nothing of her inner thoughts leaked out. "I love you, my Uncle."

"And I, you, Helena." She hadn't answered his question, but they both supposed she didn't have to. Even in the bad side of the law, love counts for something. Helena gathered her things, pausing briefly to kiss her Uncle's cheek. She had a pass this time, to get away with not spilling her own secrets. Her godfather was giving her that much. She doubted he'd give her another pass.

Closing the front door behind her, Helena knew that for the sake of his life and his blood, that she had saved him, and perhaps set into motion her own downfall. The Panessa Family would be watching her now, looking for any slip ups or hints. Blood counts for something in this life, but it only goes so far.


	6. Apollo

This update took a while.

Mostly because no one reviewed last chapter. I'm very sad. Very sad.

And slightly underdog-ish. I WRITE FOR MYSELF. And here I go...

* * *

**Chapter Six: Apollo

* * *

**

"You think he'll actually listen?"

Helena looked up from the stack of papers she was grading and blinked as she tried to get her eyes to focus past a foot in front of her face. Hours of looking at the same spot tended to create that problem. "Who?"

Dinah cocked an eyebrow and stepped deeper into the room. She was still in "costume", clad in a leotard and fishnets. Helena would like to mock the blonde for the clothing of choice, yet since she herself ran around in a leotard (with cut-outs no less), it would be vaguely hypocritical. "I think he will."

Dinah stroked the back of Helena's head with easy affection, something that had not come easily to the two women. It'd taken long nights, first with bickering and fighting, then with cooperation and double-teaming, and most recently, with mourning and schnapps. As Helena set the pen down and pushed out of the chair, she could admit that as hard as their friendship had been to form, it was worth it.

"Then why are you still anxious?" Dinah asked with in-depth-precision, proving once again that she and Vic were few amongst millions who could accurately read Helena's mind.

She rubbed at her bleary eyes, moving to stare out the window into the streets below. "Just because he backs out, doesn't mean the others will. There's still a chance that shipment will land on Gotham soil."

"So? We'll take care of it."

"No, _I_ will take care of it," Helena replied firmly.

With a quirk of her eyebrow and a small titter, Dinah managed to remind Helena of just who had won most of their fights. "And why not?"

She smiled benignly. "Because you're a metahuman, and these weapons are keyed specifically to your kind."

"My kind?"

"Yeah...freaks."

Dinah gaped at Helena and rose to her feet. "You better take that back."

Her eyes shining with mirth, Helena turned and slipped easily into battle stance. "No."

Black Canary launched herself at Huntress and together they slammed into the wall, causing several pictures frames to fall, and a potted plant, as well. Throwing a solid uppercut, Huntress caused Black Canary to fall back, leaving an opening for the roundhouse kick she used with delight, sending the blonde flying backwards into the wall.

Before the fight could go any further, to say when they were actually REALLY fighting, Oracle wheeled herself to the doorway. Barbara Gordon was nothing if not a peacekeeper.

"You're both freaks, and take this outside. I'm doing delicate work here!" Babs shouted as she covered the microphone on her headset. With a shake of her head, she turned around and started to wheel away. "I swear, Dick, they're like children..."

Helena helped Dinah to her feet, and congenially threw her arm around her neck. "Yeah, stroking Dick's ego really is delicate work."

Dinah grinned. "From what I'm told, so is stroking his-"

"YOU TWO! GO ON PATROL! NOW!"

The girls decided to ignore the blush on Babs' face and do as she said.

* * *

Huntress stood silent and proud, hidden amongst the shadows of the grotesques of Wayne Tower. Someone not in the Hero Business might wonder how she got that far up. Truth was, she swiped one of Nightwing's rappelling lines and shooter guns last time she'd been in his apartment. Not everyone had a budget of a couple billion, and a working teacher like herself loved five-finger discounts.

Geez, she was starting to sound like Catwoman.

Dozens of feet below, two cars began screeching their way across the West End, and she could easily make out the scene from this high up. Two cars, both speeding, small flashes of lights in the dim night (no sounds which made Huntress conclude they were using silencers, on purpose or not) obviously gun shots. The direction they came from, the docks, also made her conclude this was Family Business.

Eyeing down a ledge about five stories below, Huntress readied her aim and shot a rappel line, hitting the spot she'd been aiming for within inches. Who said you had to dress like Robin Hood and work in Star City to be a good archer?

She jumped off the high tower, allowing the momentum of gravity to draw her down quickly. It was always a rush, trusting your equipment in these situations. There had been accidents before, not with her, but she'd heard of others. Nothing is truly infallible.

Her line work held, though, and about three stories above the ground, the line in her hands, and attached to her belt, yanked taut, and the momentum of falling changed into a forward motion, bringing her up in a large "U". Landing lightly on her feet, she tapped a button on her comm. unit at her ear, and suddenly Oracle's voice bloomed in her ear.

"Situation?"

"High speed chase, two civilians vehicles, violence occurring."

"Can you stop them without fatalities?"

Huntress mentally calculated the distance between her purchase on the lip of a roof and the rapidly approaching cars. "Possibly."

"Do it."

Huntress didn't even reply, instead drawing her crossbow to hand and readying a sight. She'd have liked to aim for the idiot drivers dragging this mess into her mostly safe and quiet neighborhood, but the small voice in the back of her head that she affectionately referred to as a conscious told her "no".

No, wait, that was Babs too.

"Do not take out the driver, Huntress. I can practically hear your thoughts."

Ha, like she would ever...okay, so maybe, she would. Not anymore, however, Helena had learned her lessons and knew better now. Thank you, Batman.

Even if the bastards did deserve it.

Taking aim again, Huntress fired an arrow into the driver's side front wheel on the first vehicle, and a second later, into the passenger side front wheel of the other. In a fit of good luck, the cars crashed into each other instead of anything else. Within minutes, the screaming metal and screeching tired silenced, and the cars had stopped.

However, within seconds of that, two gunmen from the first car had fallen out of it and taken off running, as well as one more from the second. Contemplating the situation, Huntress took off after the two, shoulder her crossbow as she did.

From rooftop to rooftop, she ran, moving with the speed and agility that only years of training could accomplish. To any hapless civilian, she'd appear only as a blur, one easily discarded from thought. As she neared the end of roofs to leap to, she locked on to her targets, and without thought, leapt from the third story roof, wrapping a line around the chimney as she did so, and swinging down in a fast arc.

She slammed right into one of the runners, sending him sailing into the second. They were unconscious before they hit the floor, much to her disappointment. "What does a girl have to do to get a good fight these days?"

"Maybe next time we'll send you to negotiate territory with Batman."

"Shut up, Oracle. I said a good fight, not a suicide run."

"He's not that bad."

"To you."

"Aww, I bet deep down he loves you too."

"Yeah, loves to see me get my ass kicked."

Tapping out of the line, Huntress eyed the two "gentlemen" before her. They were too heavy to carry alone, and she really didn't want to touch them more than necessary. With a stroke of brilliance, she decided to pull a "Batman" with a touch of her own flare.

Dragging them out of the small side street she'd taken them down in, she left them tied to a light pole with a small note attached stating, "I'm a criminal. Arrest me."

She hoped the idiots of the GCPD understood that small note.

Returning to the scene of the first crime, intent on running down the solo runner, she was surprised to find him lying only feet away from the accident, blood running down the side of his face. He hadn't been bleeding from a head wound when he'd first taken off.

Standing, she casually slid her hand around to her crossbow, ready to defend against whomever was even now watching her, but the sound of steps behind her stayed her action. She recognized those steps.

"What are you doing here, Little Hunter?" She said with an acid-smile.

The boy humphed and stuck his chest out, one now emblazoned with an A instead of H. "It's not Little Hunter. It's Apollo."

Huntress turned and burst out laughing. "Hate to tell you this, dear, but the Amazons got the greek thing covered already."

He still held his chest out like a peacock. "So?"

"So I don't think they'd take kindly to you imposing. Besides, Apollo sucks as a codename."

"Why?"

"They're gonna think you're a metahuman who can fly or is invincible or something."

Franco frowned. "No, they won't."

"They will. Regular people like you and me aren't allowed 'big' names. We need quietly unassuming names."

"Quietly unassuming?"

Huntress nodded. "Yep. So, Franco, what are you doing here?"

"I'm helping you."

"You still stuck up on being my sidekick?"

"No. I'm on my own. I'm my own hero. And I kicked that gangster's ass."

Huntress glowered at him. "Don't curse."

Something in the tone or the eyes made him immediately slip into child mode. "Yes, ma'am."

Satisfied, she studied the wound on the criminal's head. "You didn't kick anything. You hit him in the head with a brick!"

He pouted. "I still won."

"You're not allowed to do that!"

"Why not? You shoot people!"

"As a last resort! You don't knock people silly with bricks!" Helena grinned. "That's liable to get you kicked out of the Sidekicks Union."

"They have a union?"

"It was a joke, one you're obviously too young to understand."

"Hey, no age jokes from the old chick."

"Did you just call me old?" Ice, cold as ice.

"No. Nope. Not at all. What did you expect me to do? Fight him?"

Huntress shrugged, and catching the first echo of sirens, gripped Franco's arm and pulled him down an alley, away from the scene. "Sure."

Something in his new tenseness clued her into the real problem, and the very thought of it made her want to giggle, but she withheld.

Stopping, she turned him to her. "Don't tell me you can't fight?"

"I figured you'd train me. All the comic books say that you'll train me."

She resisted the urge to smack herself in the head. "You're a bad sidekick."

"You're not such a good hero."

"Psssht. Like you're the first person to tell me that."


	7. Dick

**Chapter Seven: Dick

* * *

**

As much as Huntress would have liked to send Franco back home with a big kick in his teenage ass, she knew from previous experience that this wouldn't work. He'd just come back with a more tacky costume and name, and still manage to irritate her completely. Helena wanted to show Franco just how wrong this life, if it could be called that, was and how dangerous and unsatisfying it would always end up being. Huntress wanted to leave him to fend for himself and learn the hard way the ends this choice could bring, just the way she'd learned.

However, in a fit of brilliance, Huntress and Helena reached a compromise. She would introduce Franco to a couple old sidekicks she knows, and maybe they'd help her convince the young Italian to back off. It also gave her a chance to get some information she'd need in the near future.

Half an hour (five fights, two arguments, and one backslap) later, she'd finally reached the safe house and a sense of contentness with her plan. Franco had finally managed to go silent, though that didn't comfort her so much as unnerve her. The boy who never shut up had finally managed to stop speaking, and in a way, it crept her out (even more than when Batman stalked her outside her apartment building, just standing there in the shadows like her sensors hadn't even detected him).

The Question, hearing someone enter the building and being nearby, entered the foyer to watch his girl squabbling with Franco, again. "I'm getting an odd sense of déjà vu."

Huntress glared at him and pushed Franco ahead of her on the way upstairs. "Is Nightwing here?"

"You know, it's not comforting that the first thing my girlfriend asks for when she sees me is another man."

Helena blew him a kiss, but kept walking. Franco pretended not to see any of it, but stored it away in the back of his mind, knowing that this information could surely be useful. He'd already begun to think like a Hero.

Upstairs, the echoes of thuds and grunts told Huntress that Black Canary was training, most likely scantily clad and sweaty, so she decided to forgo an introduction there, lest Franco become incapable of speaking. She had seen it happen many a time around the blonde bombshell, including the first time Question had seen the woman naked (and let's just say first that it was an accident, and second, that she'd kicked his ass anyways).

Again, they went up another step, leaving behind the echoes of fighting, and the even more distant mutterings of theoretical dissertations about the addiction-inducing qualities of M&Ms. The top floor of the townhouse was Oracle's territory, not the least because it was the most accessible entrance for high-flying Hero-types.

Just in case said high-flying Hero-type was here doing some high-inducing tricks for Barbara, she knocked before actually entering the top floor. The hallway was dark, with only a sliver of light coming from beneath a doorway at the farthest end. Considering that it was Babs' office and not her bedroom, Helena figured she was safe from going blind.

Tapping again gently, she pushed open the door and ushered Franco in. Taking in the wall of monitors and the table upon table of computer equipment, he could only stand there and drool. Oh, yeah, he was a geek.

Smiling softly, she stepped past and went to lean over Babs' shoulder to see what she was working on so intently that she couldn't be bothered to greet her guests. To Huntress, it looked like math, the kind she'd never been good at and had struggled with in all years of school. Apparently, it didn't look like that to Franco.

"Wow, you work in binary code? I've never met anyone who could do that."

Barbara turned to look at the now ardently screen studying Franco with some surprise. "Doesn't everyone?" She asked sarcastically before turning back to her work. "What do you want, Huntress? I thought you were on patrol."

"I was, but I had an unexpected visitor. Speaking of visitors, is he here?"

"Yes."

"Hey Huntress, you're looking good tonight..."

Huntress fought a smile, and tut-tutted under her breath. "You really shouldn't flirt with me in front of your fiancé." Something tensed in Barbara's face and Huntress quirked an eyebrow in response. "Oh, don't tell me it's off again! Geez, you two are worse than me and Vic."

Franco was blissfully silent for a few minutes, giving Huntress time to turn and watch as Nightwing, former sidekick, stepped from the shadows above and dropped gracefully below. He grinned in greeting and gave her a brief hug that only months of non-contact between the two ex-lovers had facilitated; friendship had been hard to create between them when their passion had burned so bright, but brief. Passion had always been something she'd been good with.

Stepping outside the room, Huntress pulled Nightwing with her, hoping for a few minutes of privacy to talk about mutual interests. "Still mobbed up?"

"As much as I can stand."

"I need some information."

He nodded his acquiesce, and stepped a few more feet from the doorway where Franco and Barbara were now talking computer language (something involving driving and rams, which Helena totally didn't understand). "What do you need?"

"Bludhaven is the main seaport for Gotham, and in about a week, there's a shipment coming in. I need some help making sure it never arrives."

"What kind of shipment?"

"The kind of shipment that's been stolen from the military and can spell some bad things for friends."

Dick nodded. "The guns then?"

She was surprised. "I thought it was top-secret."

He nodded again, a look of somewhat unnerving dislike on his face. "I'm a bit higher on the mob-pole than I used to be."

She could think of various ways for him to rise higher, and none of them were good, clean fun. "I also need a bit of help right now."

"The kid?"

"A nuisance I need a little help in ridding myself of."

Nightwing, in typical Hero-fashion, jumped to the wrong conclusion. "I'm not hitting a kid, babe."

She smacked him upside his head, immensely enjoying it. "If I wanted to beat him up, he'd be beat. I want you to talk to him."

Rubbing the sore spot (she wore rings, damnit), he glared. "What about?"

"About being a sidekick. Tell him about how much it sucked and all that. Make him not want to be a Hero."

"Why? Being a sidekick was sometimes stressful, but generally was fun. I can't imagine a better way of growing up."

"You know I don't approve of kids in capes."

"Yeah, I know, but you love Tim anyways."

"Tim is fully aware of what can happen, and has already faced consequences. I really don't approve of him either."

"You're really harsh at times."

She smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. "It happens."

Behind them, there was a small noise as Franco peaked out. "Are we getting back to patrol anytime soon, cause Babs wants to show me a couple programs?"

Pulling him by a lock of hair, Huntress planted him in front of Nightwing, holding him in place by his shoulders. "Tell him, Nightwing."

"Tell me what?"

"I want him to tell you what it's really like to be a sidekick."

Nightwing kneeled before Franco, realized that Franco was almost six feet tall, and stood again sheepishly. "The thing about being a sidekick is that you have to go in all-knowing. You can't ever be surprised, and if you are, you can't show it."

"I'm aware of that. I've studied everything I could read on the subject, including Roy Harper's exposé in Time. I'm aware of what I'm doing."

"Then why'd you choose Huntress?"

"Shut up, Dick."

"I'm just saying, Huntress...you're not really the model Hero."

"I'm not a Hero, at all. I'm a vigilante. There's a difference."

Franco interrupted the bickering with a small laugh. "We're, you know, alike. Roy talked about her..."

"What?!"

"...in the vaguest reference. Said about how most vigilantes operated on personal vendettas, while Heroes operate on general ethics. Heroes get sidekicks, and vigilantes don't. I didn't agree."

Huntress, plotting deadly vengeance against Arsenal, looked at Franco with surprise. "You did research?"

"I'm not stupid, you know."

Nightwing laughed. "You want the truth? About being a sidekick? Or, a Hero-Assistant as they like to be called these days?"

"Sure."

He leaned close, right to Franco's face, and whispered, "It's a lot of fun and it trains you for better things."

Franco grinned back. "That's what I thought."

Huntress resisted the urge to scream. "Oh, forget it; you're of no use to me."

She started to drag Franco away, who was grinning insanely, and muttered under her breath about "Batfamily and their stupid humor". Nightwing, cherishing this memory, called out to her as she started down the stairs. "Where you going now?"

"To see Tim; he'll tell the frakking truth."

"Come see me after. We can discuss upcoming problems."

She nodded and continued down the stairs, letting go of Franco's wrist with the trust that he'd follow. The second floor was quiet and the first floor more so. As she let them out the front door, she could hear Dinah and Vic talking quietly in the living room, and found herself wishing she could join them. Having a sidekick sucked balls.

"So, upcoming problems? What are we up against, chief?"

"Don't call me chief."

"Okay...ma'am."

"That's even worse."


	8. Robin

A/N: So, I just got Huntress: Dark Knight's Daughter, which for those of you out of the comic know-how, is the trade paperback chronicling the original Huntress in some of her first comics (I think it's silver age, or golden, not sure which). Original Huntress was...SHOCKER...Batman and Catwoman's daughter. It's most awesome reading, even if I don't like Batman, which I don't.

I highly recommend.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Robin

* * *

**

Huntress was not a patient vigilante, and often found her temper fraying at the edges when encountering situations that required a wait of some sort. This included patrols that passed without incident, stake-outs, listening to Q blather on about various conspiracies and plots, and listening to Oracle blather on about various technical equipment and advances. New to this list of things that tested Huntress's patience was escorting the Five Family Heir Franco Galante. It wasn't that she didn't like him, quite the contrary. She found his sense of honor and ethos identifiable. He was very much the way she'd been as a teenager.

It wasn't even that his youth exuberance got into her way. In point of fact, all his excitement was contagious, making the night seem just a bit brighter for his presence. She hadn't intended for him to "ride along" on her night's patrol, but she had very little choice. Every time she tried to return him to his house, he returned with a vengeance (and a new name).

She'd taken certain efforts to make him cease and desist, including threatening to expose him, threatening to beat him, threatening to give him over to criminals, threatening to put him over her knee, and threatening to lock in an insane asylum, but all threats passed on deaf ears. Just recently, she'd turned to kinder methods of persuasion, and had been forced to turn to kinder people for it. She wasn't too good with the sweet talking.

Nightwing, that asshat, had made the problem worse instead of better, but then when does he ever make her life easier? Never, that's when; of course, when thinking on that, just when had she ever made his life easier? Never, that's when. Huntress gave as good as she got, and believed very much in the Golden Rule. You're dealt what you yourself deal. Karma, though not a Catholic ideology, was something Huntress believed in very much.

She considered herself the fist of destiny most of the time, especially when beating in the skulls of muggers, burglars, rapists, and cops.

However, when one took in her beliefs, it made one truly wonder; just what had she done to deserve a sidekick? Or rather, who had she pissed off in the religious ether?

"Um...are we gonna stand here all night?"

There was this sudden terrible urge to swing her elbow back just about the height of a certain stubborn teenager was so great and so sudden that it had her stiffening to restrain it. Instead, she turned to the boy, not at all daunted by the height of their location, and noted his strained features and pale skin. Apparently fifty stories up and standing on a ledge had never factored into his plans for being a Hero.

"No, we're standing here because I'm looking for someone," Huntress explained as she ignored the impulse to scare him by holding him over the ledge.

"How are you going to see anyone from up here? They all look like ants," Franco commented as he dared to venture from his clutch of the wall to over the edge. He immediately scrambled back and forced down bile.

"He's not down there."

"He flies?"

"In a way," she said vaguely, still searching the skyline. Her goal was to find the boy, and not the man. Lord knows what Batman would have to say about this situation. Hell, he'd probably have her thrown into jail for endangering a minor, let alone let her explain that she didn't want the damn minor around at all.

Even as she started to give up, convinced that she was cursed forever by God for some imagined slight, she could hear a commotion occurring not far. Gotham wasn't a quiet city at night, nowhere near it in fact, but years of training had given her a keen sense of hearing, and the ability to tune out what was innocent.

Removing her collapsible crossbow from her back, this one larger that the main one she used as a weapon, Huntress fired a long pronged arrow into the wall of the next building, several floors down from where she stood. Then, with quick movements, she secured the rope attached to the arrow to her belt. She was reaching for "Apollo" when he let out a small but girly scream. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not jumping off this ledge with you."

"It's perfectly safe."

"It's not perfectly safe, it's hazardous!"

"You climbed up here with me in the first place! How'd you expect to get down?"

"I thought I'd be able to convince you to let me use the stairs," he said with a whimper.

Huntress couldn't completely stifle the laugh. "What kind of superhero takes the stairs?"

Franco pouted and looked just a bit embarrassed. "The kind who's really afraid of heights."

Huntress stopped smiling, looking at her pretty shiny arrow lodged in the mortar of the adjacent building and remembered the thrill that came with leaping off the building with the knowledge that she was truly flying and that any number of factors could lead to a deadly fall. It was the rush of chance, something ever Hero should know and love, because they'd encounter it every time they put on the costume.

She looked at Franco and sighed, cracking her neck as she released the rope and turned to the building. Eyeing the nearby window, and the force it would take to break it and enter the building, she decided against it. For one thing, this high up, most windows are made of Plexiglas, be it high quality Plexiglas that didn't fog with time. Instead, she edged her way over to the window, and knelt down, removing a small titanium knife from it's holster inside her boot as she did.

It was tough to open a window from the outside, but this high up, most weren't properly secured. After all, who would break in from two hundred feet up?

The knife slid between the window and frame easily, and within seconds she'd slid it up to the lock, a simple drop-in-the-hole deal, just fancier, and had it unlocked. Now came the tricky part.

Even as the window slowly swung open, the powerful wind that was ever present, yet unnoticeable when you were freely standing in it, suddenly caused a big rush into the room, having found a hole to pound at. With her hair slapping into her face, Huntress swung herself inside and gestured for Franco to follow. He scrambled in behind her, very happy indeed to be off the ledge and "safe on solid ground".

"Thanks."

Huntress quirked an eyebrow and replaced her knife in her boot. "For what?"

"For not making me jump with you."

"Psssht, I'm giving you a pass tonight, but next time, you're so jumping."

As they headed for the elevator, mindful of security and cameras, Franco found himself grinning widely. "So there's gonna be a next time?"

* * *

The night wasn't a total loss for the Dysfunctional Duo, however. Not an hour after they'd left their post in downtown Gotham City, after driving back to the West End, Huntress's prey came to her. Seems the Boy Wonder had heard she was looking for him, and in true Batfamily Bravery, he came to find out why.

She and Franco were walking down a random rooftop, eyeing a couple of drunks out way too late, way too drunk, and looking for trouble. Huntress didn't think they'd get any, at least not with her on watch. Much to her chagrin, she'd not been able to shake Franco, and had reluctantly allowed him to come along. She figured once he realized it wasn't all Supervillian versus Superhero showdowns every night, and usually was a dirty thank-less job, maybe he'd decide to go home and be the good little Mobster he was destined to be.

Huntress had just knelt at the edge of the rooftop, intent on explaining to Franco the importance of not being seen by your prey when you're observing/stalking them, when a small thump some feet behind her alerted her to a new presence. However, she didn't jump to her feet, or pull a weapon. Years of working with acrobatic Heroes had her recognizing the lightness of the land, and the feet that worked it. Nightwing was light on his feet, and had a childhood of training to prove it, and the only Robin to ever come close to achieving that level of skill was Tim Drake. Still, the land had been too soft to be made by an adult male, leaving only the possibility of Tim.

Huntress turned her head just a bit to the side, her eyes still on the trio of winos walking down the street. "Good evening, Robin."

"Greetings and salutations, Huntress," he replied with a cheeky grin.

"Let me introduce Franco," she gave a small wave to the teenager now staring in awe at the red, green, and black-clad teen Hero standing just feet away. A few seconds later, he realized what Huntress had said.

"Hey, you're not supposed to reveal my identity!"

Huntress smirked and threw a disparaging glance at her protégé. "One, he can be trusted. Two, your codename sucks."

"What's your codename?" Robin asked, enjoying the sight of these two just as much as Oracle and Nightwing had implied he would.

"I'm Apollo," Franco said, his chest out, and his eyes closed as if he was imagining that years later his name would be held amongst regard of the likes of Superman and Batman.

"Ah...yeah, that does suck."

Ego instantly deflated.

Robin stooped down beside Huntress, taking in the sight of her quarry. "I've been informed by higher ups that you were looking for me."

"I need a favor."

Robin grinned. "Anything for a friend."

Huntress reached over and pinched his cheek irritatingly. "You're so adorable."

"Stop that," he said with a blush of color and smack of his fingers. "What do you want?"

"I need a babysitter."

"Aww, you and Q have a-" Suddenly it became clear. "Oh no. Not happening. I'm a serious Hero; you can't just expect me to-"

"Tim," she halted his words in a whisper, "he can't be trusted alone. I take him home and he comes right back out here. He's untrained, unknowing, and stubborn. I can't convince him to that this isn't what he wants."

"Maybe you should just let him decide that," Robin ventured, his voice just as low, both aware that Franco was a few feet away straining to hear.

"Maybe I don't want him to die like certain other young Heroes. Just keep an eye on him for the rest of the night, make sure he gets home safe? I've got work to do that really doesn't need extra eyes watching." Robin still looked stubborn. "As a favor, for me? I'd owe you one." His eyes started to dance as he imagined the ways he could call in that favor, most of them including his warden in some way. "And while you're at it, you could maybe talk to him a little. Explain about this life and it's dangers. I tried to get Nightwing to do it, but he decided to be an asshole."

Robin laughed and held his hands up. "Okay, okay! I'll try, but I won't promise anything. I believe in following your dreams."

Huntress reached over and used the cinch of his cape to jerk him close. "I believe if I don't get this kid off my back and out of my way, my foot will be following it's dreams right up your-"

Robin broke away and stood with a smile, interrupting that oh-so-beautiful threat coming out of oh-so-beautiful lips. "So, Apollo, you're gonna be joining me on patrol."

Franco looked from Robin to Huntress to Robin to Huntress. "But-"

"It's just temporary, for tonight. She thinks you need some help from a fellow younger Hero," Robin explained as he wrapped an arm around Franco's shoulder and started guiding him toward another rooftop. "Ever been in a Batplane?"

"No."

"Want to be?"

Huntress watched them go with a small sigh, and turning back to the street, watched as the party finally reached home and went inside. Standing there silently for a moment, she savored the alone-ness of the roof. Helena was not a people person and Huntress even less so. There were reasons she preferred to work alone, mostly because she did a lot of things that many Heroes didn't think moral or objective. Still, it'd been a nice change of pace to have some fresh eyes on patrol.

Huntress reached up and pressed a small button on the side of the communicator looped around her ear. "Oracle?"

"Yes?"

"I'm returning to the nest. Have all the birds ready for dinner when I get there. The worms are especially good tonight."

"So, metaphor aside, you want us all to meet you in the ready room to brief on your current crisis of the moment?"

Huntress sighed. "I don't know why I even try to talk code with you. Some day someone is going to eavesdrop on our conversations and then we're really going to be in trouble."

"Yeah, because listening to you and Vic talk sweet talk to each other about orange socks half the night is really titillating."


	9. Batman

A/N: I just got back from a baby shower...all together now "AWWWWWWWWWWW"...it was nice. First one I'd ever been to (I'm only nineteen) (going on twenty) (I do expect presents in August, faithful readers). It was nice. Made me all warm and fuzzy inside, which most of my steady readers will tell you, is not a normal state of inside-ness for me.

Onto the story...

**Chapter Nine: Batman**

Bench seats at a Gotham Knights game were had better atmosphere than the control room at the Townhouse. It wasn't that they were any less exciting, it was that they were just friendlier. An enemy of the team was in their midst, and they were firmly on their own side of the line.

In truth, it wasn't their line. Black Canary, Oracle, and Nightwing had no beef with the intruder, an invited intruder no less. It was the Question's line, drawn in hostility and jealousy, and they backed their friend with glares and snipey words. Not that he needed their backing. After all...he'd won, hadn't he?

Captain Atom might disagree, being of the chivalrous sort. It never was a contest, merely a clashing of wills. Oh, and the line between them? It's name was Helena.

Helena, said line of contention, prize to be won, and vigilante out for blood, was not amused by the spectacle when she walked in.

Atom, looking as blue and adorable-in-a-Japanese-cartoon way as ever, was standing on one side of a large table stacked with papers, maps, and other crime-fighting memorabilia. On the other side of the table, Question, faceless and oddly mesmerizing (a side effect of the gas he used to seal the blank mask), was braced in an aggressive position, feet apart, arms crossed. Behind him, Nightwing and Black Canary adopted a similar stand, whereas Oracle just struggled to look friendly yet not too friendly.

Huntress decided instantaneously to ignore both males (Nightwing doesn't count, not when he's wearing spandex). Stalking to the table, she spread out a map of Gotham and got down to business, there was really no telling just how much trouble Robin and "Apollo" could get into together, but she hoped Batman wouldn't be included in any of it.

"The shipment pulls into dock in one week. Late night entrance, to give them time to remove the guns before Customs opens up. They'll need help on that end. Nightwing?"

Stepping closer, the black and blue clothed Hero pulled out a list, with what appeared to be names scrawled on it in his own uneven writing. "Blũdhaven is stepping in. My Boss has asked me to recruit about ten others, and on Friday next we'll be unloading and removing the merchandise." Huntress noted to herself that when Nightwing talked of his undercover spot in the Blũdhaven mob that he spoke in character. It was not a good sign. It meant that he was perhaps allowing himself to become too involved. Not too worrying at this point, but it was something to think on later.

"You'll be under during the sting?" Oracle asked, not the concerned girlfriend at the moment (that would come later). No, she was asking as the mission profiler, already at her station ready to input all information gathered.

"Yeah. We'll be arriving at one a.m., right after the gamma shift of security changes."

"You're going in with alert guards in place?" Black Canary asked, noting that usually the mob goes easy, comes in on the tail end of the graveyard shift, never at the beginning.

"The security detail is in on it. They'll deflect and if necessary, take out the routine cop drive-through. We'll be unloading the merchandise onto boats, not land. Six boats, going six different ways."

Huntress nodded, noting the Atom had stepped closer to be in on the conversation rather than aloof. Question still glared, but he too stepped close to view the six routes marked on the map Nightwing had just opened. Huntress noted that the only thing marked down was the immediate exit from the Bay, and said as much to Nightwing.

"That's why the list. We'll put the tracers on the men going with the shipments, because the destinations aren't known until the last minute. The Families are still hashing out rationing of the weapons."

"Why six boats?" Huntress asked, reaching behind her for a pen to make some notes about the exit plan.

"The Five Families and a cut for Blũdhaven."

Huntress froze, just for a second, not even noticeable to anyone but the Question. He noticed though, and abandoned the staring (pissing) contest with Atom to pay attention to the conversation more.

Helena didn't tell anyone of her visit to her Godfather, and wouldn't. However, the fact that he hadn't listened to her, indeed, had out and out ignored her did not bode well for this enterprise of theirs.

"We'll need backup plans for everything," she said idly, fingering the point of the pen in her hand while she stared at the map sightlessly.

The Question, ever observant, reached over and pulled the pen from those numb fingers. "Playing it safe?"

She flashed those dark eyes at him, cursing his ability to see right through her, and thankful that he knew when to speak and when not to. "Yes."

Oracle continued to type, unknowing of the small interplay of thoughts between the love "birds". "Are we calling in anyone else?"

Huntress huffed as she sat, drawing a laugh from Canary, who was now discussing the boat designs, and that of the cargo ship. "I suppose the Bat knows?"

"I can't imagine how he wouldn't," Barbara noted back, turning from her computer to stare at Helena, who had a long-standing hostility with the Gotham Hero. Not amounts of peacemaking on either side had ever stuck, but they'd agreed silently to not go out of their way to make each other's lives Hell.

Barbara spoke again, softly so no one else heard. "I could...alert him to several other brewing situations in Mid-Town that could require his attention on the night in question."

"Don't bother, he'd see through it," Huntress said, though she did briefly touch her forehead to the cyber-queen when she stood, silently letting her know that she appreciated the thought.

Back at the table, the talk about the water-vehicles had ceased, and conversation lulled again. Huntress got right to the point. "What's the CIA's plan for the guns?"

"They want to wait until the Families have them, then raid and take them all in."

Black Canary was already shaking her head, sending that platinum hair shimmering. "They'd never be foolish enough to allow that to happen. The weapons will be stored somewhere in the counties, outside of the city, by middle people, with no connection to any family. After they're off that ship, you'll be lucky to even find them again. Some will stay in town, only used after a discreet time has passed. Most will be sold. To other Families in other cities. By that time, the government will have moved on to the next big weapon."

Atom was nodding his head as he replied. "Exactly. This is why my bosses at the Pentagon have asked me to informally ask you all to do something about it. They can't get through the bureaucracy in time to set up ops to stop the deal."

Black Canary smiled bitterly. "Of course, because really, who cares about some deadly weapons, when the only people it affects are freaks?"

"It's not like that," Atom started.

"It's exactly like that," Canary replied, before Huntress silenced the old argument with a slap of her hands. She didn't know when she'd been elected leader of this little meeting, but apparently it was so.

"Okay, so, we're going it alone. Any chance of getting some _informal _ammo to do this _informal _operation?" Huntress asked, while she began to fold up the maps.

Atom grinned cheekily. "I'll see if I can get it done for you, darlin'."

Question started to pop his knuckles threateningly. Despite being hailed as the "Geek" of the League, Vic in fact was quite the muscleman. Had it not been for his insatiable desire for information and later early career as a journalist, he might have ended up a thug for some Mafia.

Huntress ignored him and smiled back at Atom. "You do that." She turned back to Nightwing. "You go steal some tracers from the old Bat-and-chain. Ours are all in use or currently not working," she explained with a steely look at the mechanical wonder of the group, Oracle, who'd yet to deign to do some manual labor. "Canary, I want you to go talk to some of your contacts. Get some details on where the shipments are intended for, just in case we don't grab them all at once."

The room was silent, usually not the audio she was hearing after the subservient members of the team (which shifted from week to week and mission to mission). The crawl of shivers up her spine alerted her to the why. Also, the shit-eating-grin on Nightwing's face clued her in.

Without turning, she waved her hand at the person standing near the window, which he always was. "Hey, Bats."

"Stealing from me?"

"Borrowing and it wasn't going to be me. It was going to be your ex-protégé."

"Is this yours?"

Huntress did turn now, ignoring the snickers that emanated from her compatriots (namely Nightwing and Black Canary) (The Question does not _laugh_).

There, clutched by the scruff of his cape, hung Franco, looking very embarrassed and slightly Hero-worshiping. He had a scrape across his cheek, and a split lip. Robin slipped in behind the Dark Knight, and soundlessly mouthed "I'm sorry".

She fought the urge to smack herself in the face. "Hey, Little Hunter!" Forced cheerfulness, as if she planned this all along. "I guess you met my sidekick, eh, Bats?"

He merely _gloomed _at her.

Little Hunter/Apollo, obviously thinking that Batman couldn't hear him despite holding him by the neck, started to whisper at Huntress. "Dude, Huntress...I met Batman! How awesome is that? Do you think...I could be Robin one day? 'Cause, you're cool and all, but Batman is like, the Ultimate."

She didn't fight the urge to smack herself in the forehead this time.


	10. Dark Knight

A/N: I know I haven't updated lately. My only reasoning is...that my muses are dirty little bastards who abandon me at will to go party with the gods. Forgive me.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Dark Knight

* * *

**

There are some who'd say that Huntress was reckless, dangerous, and without any positive morals.

She'd have to agree, but she'd never admit it. Especially not to Batman, the pompous ass.

However, speaking as a reckless, dangerous vigilante armed with many weapons, the least of which was her mind, she knew that even though several of his points had merit, she couldn't afford to listen to him. Not now, or ever; not with lives at stake.

_"He's your sidekick?"_

_"Yep, just like Robin."_

_"That's not wise."_

_"You think I don't know that, Bats?" She asked, her anger riding rough and ready on her voice. She and Batman stood on the roof, both very aware that the other Heroes could hear every word, but both unwilling to give in and leave. This was her headquarters, and she'd never acquiesce to the man she considered a mortal enemy._

_"I think that you're only thinking of yourself."_

_"I've tried to make him go away. To stay home. You more than anyone understand me when I say that children do not belong in capes."_

_The slight dig at his own ineptness in saving his former Robin, Jason Todd, had Batman narrowing his eyes in dislike. "Is it so hard for you to be rid of a child, Huntress?"_

_She smiled, her lips curving but her eyes staying just as heated and focused. "Would you prefer I use your method or my own?"_

The church was tall and stately in the morning light. It was almost 9 a.m., Sunday morning, and the building, unlike many others in this neighborhood, was packed. The grotesques at the top had often provided her with a place to hide and watch over her part of Gotham, while also giving her a delicious sense of irony.

She staked out the mob by hiding in the shadows of their Catholic church, where they came to pretend to efface themselves on God's mercy. In truth, it was just another business meeting and pissing contest. The big dogs brought their bitches out to parade around in all their Gucci glory, enjoying the envy that often polluted the stares of their opponents. The mooks came out to be at their bosses back, and to eye up the fancy ladies that came. Together, it was a maelstrom of testosterone and greed.

Even the priest was Italian and on the take. After all, restoration of a hundred-year-old church wasn't cheap.

Helena stepped from the Lamborghini she owned, finding the ride pleasantly different when one is a passenger rather than the driver. She didn't often give up control, but when she did, both she and Vic found pleasure in the turn-around.

She wasn't here as Huntress, and this turn-around she didn't find pleasant.

Vic, looking Irish and wholesome with his red hair and freckles, dressed in (what else?) Armani took her arm, gently twining his fingers with her's. "Are you ready?"

"To walk into a dangerous situation, and to poke the sleeping lion?" She asked with a quick smile, saucily retorting before he could comment on her pale face and slightly trembling hands. "Always."

She'd not been inside this church since her family's funeral.

_"You're going to get someone killed."_

_"I'm trying to protect people, not get them killed."_

_"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."_

_"Then where do the bad intentions lead to?" She retorted before turning to face the visage of rooftop upon rooftop. She thrust out her hands, enfolding all that they saw as she spoke. "This is my territory, I clean up here. I don't bother you, you don't bother me. That was the deal; I suggest you stick to it."_

_Batman opened his mouth, doubtless to place more recrimination on her. She wouldn't let him. "Keep your lectures and your advice, I want neither. I may not be a Hero, I may not be a good person, but I protect my own. I don't want Franco, I want him to go and have what a mob-kid can call a normal life." She turned to him, her eyes accusing. "He wants to be here, who am I to stop him?"_

_"When the walls fall down, Huntress, don't say I didn't warn you," he said as he turned, his black cape blending in with the shadows so that she almost instantly lost sight of him. His voice echoed from that dark place though, to haunt her. "I'll be watching."_

_"I expect nothing less," she replied softly, watching as Robin and Nightwing launched themselves out of the window just below to join their mentor in the skyline. Robin blew a kiss to her before disappearing into the shadows as well._

The steps leading to the large wooden doors were shallow, and made the walk up awkward. Helena recalled that as a child, they'd seemed so high. Things change so much from childhood to adulthood, perceptions altering as ideas and faith grew larger and smaller.

The sermon had already started, and no one expected the creaking of the entrance. Who would be so bold as to interrupt the Roman Catholic Sunday Mass? Truly, who? For countless years, it'd gone on as planned, two hours of talking and praying, and furtive whispers and threats for good measure.

Today, that changed.

The sunlight spilled into the Cathedral, blinding all inside for a few moments. The hundred or so people inside turned in their seats, trying to make out the silhouette that stood there. A woman, that was clear from the curves, but who?

She wore Armani as well, a somber black suit. Pencil skirt, cropped jacket, and large appropriately floppy hat. Her Sunday best, so to speak. She stood there, framed by the sunlight for a few minutes, delighting in the shocked whispers and shuffling feet as the lowest goons on the pole, who sat in the back, stood to either block her or verify her identity. She gave them no chance.

Pulling on Vic's hand, she walked down the aisle, hips swaying as her Manolos clicked. She walked farther down the aisle, and higher up the totem pole of Mafia power, stopping only when she'd reached the first aisle, where the five Family Fathers sat, including the _capo de tutti capi_, Franco's grandfather. Franco himself sat in the third aisle, behind the sons and daughters, yet in front of the cousins and their parents. Helena smiled at the old priest, a small apology on her lips.

Though she'd never bothered to return to Church after returning to Gotham, Helena knew that in all technicality, as the last remaining member of the Bertinelli family, her place was at the most in the second row. She had neither backing nor status enough to warrant front row.

She'd always hated propriety.

Leaning down to her own godfather, Tomaso, she brushed a kiss against his cheek. "Greetings, Uncle."

His eyes dancing with mirth and rage, he returned the greeting. "Hello, Helena."

"Might I join you?" She asked, letting none of her own rage and amusement enter her gaze. She kept her face perfectly blank, leaving many in the congregation to wonder what her motives were. Most there knew who she was, but few had ever met her. Still, her name held power and already many were plotting how to use her to their advantage.

Tomaso arched an eyebrow, well aware of her intentions in coming here. He moved his arm, obviously to point out a clear space in the row behind him. Once again, she gave him no chance.

As soon as his arm had moved, she slid into the spot next to him, dragging Vic (who was grinning) down beside her. "Thank you, godfather."

Whispers again, louder and more obvious. Who was this girl that she garners a spot in the front row? What kind of power did she have that she was allowed to do such?

The entire hierarchy of the Five Families of Gotham City was being shaken up before their eyes, and no one could do anything about it. After all, this was a House of God. Violence just wouldn't do here.

As the priest began to drone on once again, and slowly the whispers abated under the glares of their illustrious leaders, Helena leaned into her Uncle's shoulder, and began to whisper, "Beautiful day, isn't it, Uncle?"

"It is indeed, Helena. Why are you here?"

"Curiosity. I give you a warning that you do not heed."

"I find warnings both irritating and illuminating, but never do I bow to another's wisdom."

"Even that of your own niece?" She asked, turning his face to her's so that eyes that perfectly matched that of his sister's could stare into his soul.

"Even that."

"I don't want you to be hurt, Uncle."

"I don't want you to be hurt, Niece."

She nodded, using the corner of her eye to monitor the rabidly watching and note-taking dozens behind them. "There are plans in place, to take down the Five Families."

"They've been trying for centuries to do such, Helena. They've yet to succeed."

"They might this time."

"We'll always live on. There is no ridding of us. When we fall, others will rise."

Helena smiled, old lectures coming back from her childhood, as her father's words echoed out of her mouth. "The evolution of man."

"Yes," Tomaso replied, still whispering, his face close to her's. "Take your friend and leave."

"The sermon isn't over."

"It is for you. The Fathers will not stand for insolence."

"I care not for them."

"I care for you."

"I thought you said if we met again, it would be blood between us?" She asked, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder.

He nodded slowly. "Perhaps I lied."

"Perhaps, when you're in prison, I'll come visit you."

He grinned, a smile almost identical to her own. "Perhaps, when my enemies kill you, I shall visit your grave."

"Perhaps I'll be leaving now," she replied as she stood, again interrupting the sermon. Vic wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding a softly smiling Helena into the aisle and toward the door.

"Already tired of poking the sleeping lion?"

"I think I've gotten their attention," she replied, watching as again whispers fluttered about and notes were taken. "Now, we just wait to see if they take the bait."

"Did Don Panessa understand the message?"

Helena brushed Vic's cheek with a kiss before sliding into the car. "I hope so."


	11. Guiseppe

**Chapter Eleven: Guiseppe**

* * *

"What was my favorite color as a child?"

"Blue."

"What did I want to be?"

"The first Lady President, a choice highly ironic given your childhood."

"What did my father give me on my fifth birthday?"

"A shiny new tricycle; pink with blue ribbons on the handle."

"That's what he gave me at the party. What'd he give me in private?"

"A knife, retractable, with only a two-inch blade. When he gave it to you, he told you that no matter what your age, there's always someone trying to cut you down. Cut first, or be cut."

Helena sat up from where she reclined in Vic's arms, idly watching _Goodfellas_ with her de-masked boyfriend. "You literally do know every detail of my childhood," she noted with wonder, reaching for the popcorn. Whereas most people in the knowledge of such a large breach of privacy would scorn Question, and generally berate him, Helena took it with a grain of salt and a small kiss, well aware that he'd feel the need to research her thoroughly before even contemplating approaching her, whether it be professional or personally.

Vic smiled and pulled her close as she relaxed back into his arms, tucking her head under his chin and enjoying the simple pleasure of being alone with the love of his life. It was still Sunday, barely hours after the small anti-showdown between herself and her Uncle, and in the spirit of the day, they were watching one of the best Mafia films ever created. "I know every detail of your childhood, Batman's childhood, Blue Beetle's childhood, and even Superman's childhood. By the way, that includes his early years on Krypton."

"How did you manage that, you super genius you?" She asked, sliding her arms around his neck so as to better layer his stubble-lined jaw with popcorn flavored kisses.

Vic turned his face so that his lips brushed her's. "I made a deal with Brainiac."

She froze, her eyes clashing with his, the movie forgotten. "Seriously?"

He nodded, grinning and sending those freckled-covered cheeks dimpling. "Seriously."

"You're a crazy man."

"So they tell me."

Helena relaxed back against the couch, turning her attention back to the television and the movie that played there. She'd never admit it, but she'd always had a thing for Ray Liotta. Something about the way he spoke, that slight accent, made her smile. Plus, he played the cocky gangster very well.

The movie was into one of the slow parts, also known as the "they're not shooting anyone or screwing anyone" phase, and she turned back to Vic. He was idly rubbing her feet still watching the movie, always paying attention to the details.

It was quiet in their apartment, but not unsettling. Just a normal evening with two not-so-normal people, who also happened to be two equally-abnormal superheroes.

"When do you leave for patrol?" Vic asked, blowing some of her thick hair from in front of his mouth as he did so.

"I don't think I am. Franco is stuck at home tonight, or so he told me."

He smiled. "Since when do you wait for Little Hunter to patrol?"

"I don't," she replied with a scowl, "I just thought it'd be nice to have an evening to ourselves." She twisted in his arms, sliding her long body together to straddle his hips and rub her cheek along his. "Oracle already knows."

He smiled and played stupid. "Just what will we do with all this time on our hands?"

"Play Parcheesi?" She said with a smile as she slid her hands into his button-down shirt.

"Okay, but I get to be yellow."

* * *

Across town, in a small suburb just outside of Gotham, seemingly far enough to be safe from the crime that ran rampant downtown, a family dined on roast beef and vegetables. There were seven of them, grandparents, parents, and three children. All were quiet with none of the comfort and security of Helena's apartment. 

Instead, it was the silence of power and tension. It could be no other way and as far as Franco had known, when his father and grandfather dined together, it never had been. He could remember quiet dinners in the kitchen, just his mother and his brother and sister with them, whispered conversations and small celebrations. The male counterparts of his family had never been invited. His mother was a smart woman, well aware of the one-man-upness of the Mafia world. Every party was bigger and more lavish than anyone else's including children's birthday parties.

Franco cherished the secret parties he'd had with his mother when he was younger, because it was some of the few times he'd felt happy.

Franco Galante went to private school. He attended classes his father chose, participated in clubs his father ordained. All moving toward the goal of being second to his father, who intended to become Leader of Leaders among the Five Families. Since his own father was the Leader now, it was expected that Franco's father, Vincenzo, would eventually take over the seat.

However, Franco knew something his father did not.

In fact, it was one of the reasons why Franco was running from this life as fast as he could.

"How is school, Frankie?" Giuseppe Galante asked from his place at the head of the table. A strong man in his late sixties, he'd been leading Gotham's underground for over thirty years and it showed in his face. Wrinkled though it was, it seemed as if carved from stone. No softness in this man, not in the face or the body. He was still as muscled as he had been as a lad working his way from thug to _capo_.

"Good, _papi._"

Giuseppe nodded. "Your classes, they go well?"

"Yes, _papi_."

"You enjoy the politics class? I told your father to make sure you were in it."

"It's very interesting. It's difficult, but I like it," Franco replied, not having looked from his plate once. Never stare a _capo_ in the face, not even if he's your blood. It's considered an insult and rude amongst some. It was also easy for a face to be read when being looked at directly. Since Franco was so young, he still showed every lie and emotion in his eyes.

"You use what you learn, my boy. In this life, it's all power struggles; all compromise," Giuseppe said with a sneer. "I didn't get where I am with all force. It's so...uncivilized to beat someone into submission when you can manipulate them and make them think it's their idea, yes?"

It was a subtle dig, but still a dig. Vincenzo Galante was famous for preferring brutality to conversation. In another world, he'd never have moved past thug and would have been happy for it. In this world, he'd had no choice and now took dissatisfaction out on everyone in his life too weak to defend.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and the maid hurried to answer it. Within seconds, she'd returned. "Mr. Galante, there is a Matches Malone on the phone for you."

There was no question to who the maid had been speaking. When the _capo di tutti capi_ was in the house, there was only one Mr. Galante. Giuseppe stood easily, moving from the table to the hall, stopping at the last minute. "Franco, I wish to speak with you in private."

There were no words spoken, no one mentioning that the boy had hardly eaten his food, that he had homework to tend to. They let him leave the table and join his grandfather, because no one was stupid enough to question Giuseppe. They walked down the dark hallway, soon entering Vincenzo's office, Giuseppe's for the moment.

While his grandfather tended to the phone, Franco took a seat in front of the desk, and with his head still down, waited for the conversation to follow.

The call was short, mostly monosyllabic, at least on Giuseppe's part. All too soon, it was over and he was looking at his grandson. A strapping boy in the prime of his teenage years. Still forming, but almost done. Quite tall, quite handsome. Giuseppe liked to think the boy was the spitting image of himself, and found it flattered himself to remember just how imposing he'd once been.

"How are things really?"

"Father is growing more restless. Complains about his lack of power in the business."

His grandfather sighed, and sank into the opulently built chair behind the desk. "Has he made any plans as of yet?"

Franco shook his head. "Not that I know of, but he doesn't tell me of his plans to kill his father."

"Yes, I imagine he wouldn't." Giuseppe stood and walked around the desk, patting Franco on the shoulder when he reached his side. "Fear not, my boy. Your father is weak, always was. I'd have been good to have him put down as a child, but I let my sentiment get in the way." Belying his age, Giuseppe knelt down and tucked a finger under his grandson's chin, lifting it so that he could see his eyes. "You are strong. You will follow in my footsteps. I will not do this much longer; I want you prepared to take my seat."

That was the gist of the problem of Franco's life.

His father plotted to kill his grandfather, who plotted to usurp said Father to place the Son on the throne.

All Franco wanted was to be left alone.


	12. Teacher

**Chapter Twelve: Teacher**

* * *

_Punch. Kick. Duck. Upper-cut._

"Harder, faster!"

_Punch. Duck. Round-house. Duck._

"Watch your balance on the turns!"

"I'm watching!"

"Watch harder!"

_High-kick. Solar plexus punch. Duck. Round-house._

"You're not hitting hard enough. At this rate you couldn't take down a common mugger!"

"I can't hit any harder!" Franco yelled as he leaned over, hands on knees, gasping for air. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets and his hands were sore despite being taped up. He glared at Huntress and reached for his water. "Are you trying to punish me for something?"

Huntress smiled and picked up for own water, pulling off the hand mitts she'd worn during their practice session. "No, what makes you think that?"

"You're pushing me too hard!"

She laughed out loud. "That's not too hard. That's not anything compared to the level you're gonna have to get to."

Robin spoke up from his perch on the roof edge. "She's right."

Both Huntress and Little Hunter glared at him. "Don't you have patrols?" She asked in a saccharine voice that promised retribution later.

Robin shrugged. "Not really. Gotham is going quiet."

Huntress knew this already, which was why she herself was training Franco instead of patrolling. With criminals in hiding preparing for the influx of anti-meta weaponry, there was little else to do but plan and practice. They'd need both to stop the Five Families.

She threw one of her mitts at Robin. "Why don't you train him then?"

He threw it back. "Your sidekick, not mine."

"Not that sidekicks can have sidekicks," Huntress noticed.

Robin laughed. "If we did, they'd probably be chibi."

Franco looked confused. "What's a chibi?"

"It's this adorable mutated copy of superheroes that it around one-third of the original size. It tends to be-"

"Shut up, Robin. You," Huntress pointed at Franco, "have horrible balance. Every time you try a high kick or any kick in general, you start to topple. Your strength needs work too. You hit like a girl, and as a girl, I find that insulting."

Franco tried to look calm and composed, but Huntress could tell her words stung a bit. She softened her voice. "We can work on all that. Robin, do me a favor and take my 'side-kick' down to the gym. Show him how to use the weight machines."

Robin mumbled agreement and looped his arm through his new friends. "So, ain't she gorgeous when she's all stern and teacher-like? Makes me want detention."

Huntress sighed. "Shut up, Robin!"

"Okay, Ms. Huntress."

The two boys snickered as they walked down the stairs and into the Birds of Prey headquarters. She'd decided on practice on the roof, mostly because it was cooler up here than in the basement, where the gym was located.

Cracking her neck from the sudden tension, Helena turned to the figure still standing in the shadows. "He's got good reflexes. Like I said, his balance is shit, but that can be worked on."

Nightwing nodded, but remained where he stood. "Why are you training him when you have no intention of taking him on?"

He always could see right through her.

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. You, more than any other hero, dislike younger people in the Hero business."

She shrugged. "I think it's partly because I'm a teacher. You know? I see these kids day in and day out, and in Gotham most of them won't see a better life. The best they can hope for is survival, and some of them won't even get that. Then, I see these other kids, like Robin and Franco, who choose to risk that to make life better for everyone."

"What's so bad about that?"

She smiled bitterly. "It doesn't work. Heroes save a few people, but people always slip through the cracks. Look at Ole Bats. He's been fighting for years, and Gotham is still the shit hole it started out as."

"We have an effect, Huntress."

"Not much of one. We fight because there's nothing else for us," she gestured to herself and to Nightwing. "We know nothing but the fight. Kids though, they can know something else. A better way."

"You're starting to sound like a pacifist."

"Oh, ha-ha. Mock me, if you will, but I mean it." She looked at him slyly. "When you and Babs have kids, you want them following in your footsteps?"

He stepped close, clucking her on the nose. "I'd be honored."

She pinched his stomach. "You're a fool."

"So you've always told me. Now, do you want to know what I came to tell you or not?"

She sighed and nodded, ignoring their close bodies as she did so. Once, a few years ago, she and Nightwing had had a brief but memorably affair, just after him and Barbara Gordon, aka Oracle, nee Batgirl, had broken off their long-term relationship. Though Huntress loved teasing him about their sordid encounter, it was actually a sore point for him and Barbara; the fact that he'd sought solace in whom at the time had been on Batman's bad side (which, honestly, she still was). It'd taken a lot of bonding on the women's parts to make the Birds of Prey work with Nightwing hanging between them, but Dinah had helped when she'd joined.

It also helped that Huntress was in no way interested in Nightwing anymore.

"We've chosen which people will be going in on the docking," he handed her a list of nine names, he'd be the tenth, "and I've got some coordinates on where a couple of the boats are going," another paper with five sets of numbers on it. "There both warehouses down river. Since the Panessas, the Inzerillos, and the Cassamentos own most of the riverfront property, there's only so many places the Berettis and the Galantes can unload their cut of the shipment. They won't want to go too far, the cops patrol the waters coming in and out of Gotham too heavily."

"What about the other three Families? We're still going to use trackers?"

He nodded. "I'll carry them on me, then put them on the shipments as I ration them out."

She looked surprised. "You're separating them? That's a dangerous job. Anyone suspects foul play; you'll be the first hit."

He nodded. "Puts me in the middle of the action though."

She grinned and slid both papers into a hidden pocket of her work clothes. "I might have to shoot you."

He grinned back. "Oracle has already laid out how we're going about it," he turned and jumped to the edge of the roof, "but you don't get to shoot me. Black Canary gets to blast me with that voice of her's."

He disappeared from sight over the edge and all Huntress could do was pout because, "Blondes have all the fun."


	13. Sneak

**Chapter Thirteen: Sneak**

* * *

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Galante." 

He was in his mid-forties, a touch of gray at each temple. He rose with the confidence of the physically fit, and smiled at her with the glint of appreciation of the unfaithful husband. Helena took his hand with a cold smile and took the proffered seat in front of the desk. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Helena. I've heard so much about you."

She smiled back but hers was sharp to his lustful. "Please, call me Ms. Bertinelli. I'm not here for pleasure."

"But what pleasure it would be if you were," he replied, his gaze only partially cooled down at her tone. "Now then, why _are _you here?"

Helena opened the clasp of her purse and removed a slim but thickly padded envelope. "A delivery for Don Panessa."

Vincenzo Galante took the envelope with some curiosity. He couldn't recall any side-deals with Don Panessa. Helena was banking on the fact that he wouldn't go out of his way to reassure himself that her Uncle had truly sent her. Hopefully, he'd let the money speak for itself.

Helena smiled at him as she leaned back in her seat and began to speak. "In the coming months, Don Panessa anticipates your support in a number of things."

Without counting Vincenzo could clearly see that there was at least ten thousand dollars in the envelope. Not a large amount of money by any means, but it wasn't meant to satisfy him. It was meant to entice him. Setting the envelope down, he turned to Helena and smiled. "Support in what such things?"

She smiled back and struggled to not pull out her crossbow and shoot him. "Don Panessa is anticipating...many changes in Gotham in the months to come."

"What sort of changes?" His eyes glittered with curiosity and greed.

"If all goes well," Helena began coolly, "a change in leadership of the Families for one thing."

Vincenzo's face shut down and he was glad he'd shut and locked his study door before speaking to Helena. "I'm not sure I appreciate what you're saying."

It was bold of Don Panessa to seek him out and to send a woman with innuendo of murdering his father, the leader of the Families. Very bold and very interesting; Vincenzo stood and paced while Helena crossed her legs and waited for him to speak again.

"I do not appreciate the innuendo..." he started. "Your intent is...interesting, however."

"Is it interesting enough to garner a second meeting?"

"Where?"

Helena stood. "I'll contact you with the when and the where." She left without looking back and entered the too quiet hall with a smart click of her heels. She was almost to the door when it opened. A morose Franco stepped in and automatically stepped out of the doorway. He held it open for her as she continued to walk through it, not even looking up when she paused. "How was school, Franco?"

It was her voice that clued him in. His eyes jerked from her shoes to her face and before he could speak, she placed a finger over her mouth to imply silence. "See you around, Franco."

He watched in shock as Huntress walked calmly down the stairs to her car. The servants bowed and scurried away as if she was a Princess and he remained frozen there until she'd driven out of sight. He was so involved in his thoughts that he didn't notice when his father joined him at the doorway.

He felt the smack that sent him flying to the ground, however. "Am I paying to air condition the entire world?!" Vincenzo asked as he slammed the door shut. "You're worth little more than the clothes I buy you, you fool."

The sound of light footsteps had Franco looking into his mother's sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry, sir," he ground out through his teeth refusing to rub at the sore spot on his cheek where he'd been hit. He stood and picked up his school bag, intent on heading for his room.

"Damn right you are," Vincenzo replied suddenly gripping Franco's arm with bruising strength. "What were you staring at?"

Franco saw no reason to lie. "The woman that just left."

Vincenzo grinned and suddenly the rage twisting his face disappeared. Both Mrs. Galante and Franco held in their sighs of relief. "Ahh, Ms. Bertinelli. She is worthy of a few extra looks." He glanced at his wife as if to imply that she was not. "I can forgive you for the transgression this time."

As soon as his father was back in his study, Franco turned to his mother. "Bertinelli?"

She nodded. "One of the founding families."

Franco thought long and hard for a few seconds before all those history lessons caught up with him. "The one that was wiped out? I thought they all died."

"All except one."

Suddenly Franco couldn't wait for night to come so that he could question his mentor. He had many questions just dying to be answered.

* * *

She was dialing her phone before she'd even exited through the Panessa Estate's gates. When the line was picked up, she didn't even wait for Oracle to greet her before speaking. "He took the bait." 

"Good," Oracle replied as she continued to type. "You're heading for the other Families now, correct?"

"Yes. I've got meetings set up with the second in command at all of them." She couldn't risk going to the true Heads of the Families. They were too superstitious. Besides, the ambition and greed of almost-Heads would work in her favor. "Have you contacted the police?"

"I've spoken with my father. He's talking to the Organized Crime unit today. By tomorrow, they'll know as much about the Families as we do."

"Did you tell him about the plan?"

Oracle hesitated. "I told him enough to make it clear that in three days GCPD will have the Five Families on a platter."

"No interference, right?"

"That's correct."

It hadn't taken very long for the Birds of Prey to realize that just stopping the shipment of weapons into Gotham wouldn't solve the problem. They'd stop this one, and a month later another would come.

This time they were going for broke.

If they could trace the payment trail back to the Families, the evidence could be handed over to the police and the Families would take a heavy hit. Possibly enough to shut them down for a few years. In those few years, Heroes like Black Canary and Batman could well and truly clean up Gotham City.

To trace the money, however, they needed an "in" to the computer system for each Family. Normally, Oracle could break in from the outside, but doing so would alert the owners to their intent.

This had to be done quietly, thus, Helena was back undercover as a Mafia Princess. Eventually, she'd even have to 'bug' her Uncle's house, but she'd pass that obstacle as it came.

"I told Vincenzo that I'd contact him with the where's and when's of the second meeting."

Oracle nodded, though Helena of course couldn't see it. "I'll have the equipment ready by tomorrow. You can call tonight."

Helena nodded, and again it wasn't seen. "I saw Franco."

Oracle's new sense of alertness radiated down the open line. "Were you exposed?"

"You might say that."

Oracle sighed. "Did you willfully expose yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Helena didn't speak for several minutes. "I trust him," was the only explanation she offered.

"I hope you trust him with your life, because that's what you just did."

"I know that."

"We'll talk more when you return to base."

Helena ended the call and set her phone down.

She did trust Franco with her life.

When she looked into his eyes, she saw a mirror of herself at that age.

He would not betray her.


End file.
